Black & White
by classicalreader313
Summary: In order to win a girl, Dobie pretends to be a photographer. How long will the ruse go before he is found out?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I am not Max Shulman. I don't own anyone or anything.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Central High's annual art show.

Canvases adorned the walls in the cafeteria, and some of the tables displayed pretty pieces of pottery. Art classes were a requirement in the high school, so many of the students were proudly displaying their work to their friends, teachers, and parents.

Well, perhaps in some cases, proudly wasn't necessarily the right word.

"Isn't this the worst piece of clay you've ever seen?" Dobie exclaimed, gesturing down to a misshapen bowl. It was splattered with mismatched paint colors and the edges were rough.

"But, Dobie, you made this one," his best friend, Maynard G. Krebs pointed out.

"That's the point," he continued. "I'm a hopeless artist. A miserable musician!" Just as his friend was about to intervene, he added, "I flunked out of band! Mr. Pomfritt flunked me! Who flunks band? All I had to do was play the triangle. _The triangle!_"

Maynard shrugged. "Like nobody's perfect."

Dobie rolled his eyes at his friend's attempt. "Maynard, nothing you can say could make me feel better. Absolutely nothing!" He shouted, triangular eyebrows shooting up in frustration at his own hopelessness. However, his voice caught when he looked past his friend. Standing in the corner of cafeteria eyeing some photographs was a girl- a brown haired, medium height, fine-figured girl. A dreamy smile lit up his face and, moving around his friend, he headed towards her.

The beatnik again shrugged. "Must've been something I said," he told himself before searching out the refreshments table.

"Hello, my sunbeam, my ray of light, my great, tawny beast," Dobie greeted as he came to her side.

The girl turned to him, surprised. "Are you talking to me?" she asked.

"Who else? After seeing you, how could I possibly talk to anyone else?" he questioned.

She stifled a laugh. "You sure are kooky," she giggled. "What's your name?"

"Dobie Gillis," he answered. "What's yours?"

"Anita Iglehart."

"Ah, a name worthy of an angel!" Dobie exclaimed, causing her to dissolve into more giggles.

"Tell me, Dopey, are you interested in photography?"

"That's-uh- that's Dobie with a B," he corrected. "And no, I've never given it much thought. What about you?"

"I simply adore it. I never go anywhere without my camera. I've always flipped for photographers- Dorothea Lange, Murray Becker, Walker Evans- braving the elements to reveal the truth!" she proclaimed. "Oh, Dobie, are you _sure _you're not a photographer?"

That was when he noticed the black camera hanging around her neck. "I'm sure, I'm not a photographer." Noticing the disappointed look on her face, he quickly added, "But I can picture you and me together."

Anita looked back at him, her hands on her hips. The disappointment was gone, and now she was holding in laughter. "And how many girls have you gotten with that one?"

Dobie dared to venture, "One so far?"

The brunette couldn't hold in that laugh, and it escaped her. The beautiful bubbling sound made Dobie's heart flip. "If you're talking about me, then you're mistaken."

His heart sunk. "Then zero so far," he admitted, while Anita nodded knowingly.

"It sure is a shame you aren't in photography," she told him. "You're kinda cute." With those words, she turned and started to leave.

However, with that admission, Dobie knew he couldn't lose her. "Wait, Anita," he said and hurried after her. "What if I was starting a photography class? Here at the high school?"

"Oh, Dobie, you are?" Anita asked, facing him once again.

"Uh- yes. I'm starting right away. All the other art classes- they've been a piece of cake. I love a challenge," he lied, becoming more confident as her smile widened.

"Oh, Dobie, that's wonderful!" she gushed.

"Sure is," he agreed. "Would you like to go out with me?"

"You can take me out any night!"

"Any night?"

"But of course! Any night, every night!" Anita told him. "Oh, Dobie, you're absolutely delightful!" She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. As he stood in stunned silence once she released him, Anita pulled out a pen and a hastily torn slip of paper and scribbled down her phone number. She pushed it into his hand and gave the dazed boy another kiss. "Call me, Dobie!"

With that, she rushed off, leaving Dobie befuddled, with a crumpled phone number on his hand and two lipstick marks on his cheeks.

Maynard wandered over with a plate stacked with cookies. "What'd you say to her?" he asked, waving one hand in front of Dobie's face.

The boy snapped back to attention. "I don't even know," he shrugged. "All I know is I'm in big trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

Dobie knew that the first thing he had to do was acquire a camera.

Asking his father was out of question. He already knew the answer: _No, no, N-O, NO! _Dobie didn't have a clue how much a camera cost, but one thing was for certain- it was more than his dad would give him.

Dobie was now sitting in the park, in his favorite spot by the _Thinker _statue. He knew he would have to enroll in photography class, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't have a camera. When he expressed this to Maynard, the beatnik answered, "Well, couldn't you like borrow one?"

That was the solution. "Gee, thanks, Maynard. You always make everything sound simple," the boy answered, gratefully. He paused for a moment before hastily adding, "No offense."

"No offense," Maynard agreed. "Well, good luck in photography. They're like painting the white line down the middle of the street." He made to leave, but Dobie grabbed his friend's arm.

"Maynard, if I'm gonna go through with this, I'd at least like to have a friend by my side."

"Well, then like don't go through with it, good buddy."

"But, Maynard, you know I have to! Anita Iglehart- her name's like poetry! Her face, her hair, her body- like a work of art! I can't let her go!" Maynard still looked hesitant, but Dobie pressed on, "You're my best friend in the whole world. If I can't count on you, who do I got? You said you'd stick your arms into a fire for me. Why are hydroquinone and phenidone any different?"

Maynard was hooked. "Like fine, good buddy. I'll stick with you."

"Attaboy, Maynard!" Dobie cried triumphantly. "Let's head down to the school to enroll and get our cameras!"

The two boys hurried towards Central High, Dobie's arm slung over his best buddy's shoulders.

* * *

Dobie had no idea the school even had a dark room. Maynard, however, did. The beatnik got lost enough that of course he would know where the most obscure places on campus were. So after Mr. Pomfritt reluctantly- and a bit tearfully- accepted their enrollment, Maynard led his friend to the dark room so the two could pick up their cameras.

It sure was an obscure part of the building, but Maynard had found it like he found most things- on accident. And so after searching for a bit, he rediscovered the spot. The door was conveniently marked "DARK ROOM" and in small letters the words "Do not open" were scrawled.

Dobie shrugged his shoulders and pushed open the door, only to immediately regret it. "What are you doing? Shut the door!" someone shouted, and Dobie hurried into the room, dragging Maynard along. The door clunked shut behind them.

"Sorry," Dobie ventured, and under the dim lights he could see a kooky looking teenage boy, with glasses and unkempt brown hair. He looked like he had been in the dark room for days.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, buster! You could've ruined my negatives!" the boy shot back.

"Dobe, like maybe we're not cut out for photography," Maynard whispered urgently to his friend, but Dobie waved off Maynard's concerns.

"Well, I'm sorry all the same," he answered, and the boy's features twisted into a scowl. Maybe Maynard was right…

The boy looked up at them for the first time. "Please don't tell me you're enrolled in photography."

"We are. I'm Dobie Gillis and this is my friend, Maynard G. Krebs."

The boy's scowl switched to a deep-set frown as he let the negatives fall onto the table. "I told you not to tell me," he snapped. Then, reluctantly, he added, "I'm Benbow Teed."

Maynard's eyebrows shot up. "Benbow Teed?"

Benbow ignored him. "If you want cameras, they're in the cabinet over there." He pointed to the far wall. The two friends went over to it, pulling out cameras and holding their eyes up to the lenses. "Be careful with those!" Benbow warned. "Those are Schwartz-Kleins!"

Maynard looked at him, not understanding, but Dobie, who was a firm believer in "fake it 'til you make it", nodded intelligently. "Of course, Benbow. What sort of clown doesn't know that?"

"This sort of clown," Maynard mumbled, but Dobie nudged him.

Benbow came back with a response of his own. "What sort of clown opens the door to the dark room?"

Dobie didn't have a response to this. Instead, he said, "I'll see you in class, Benbow. C'mon, Maynard."

The two boys left the room. Benbow shrugged before returning to his work.

* * *

**Sidenote: If you're wondering who the heck Benbow Teed is, I'll let you know. He's not my creation. He is a character from the failed pilot for the _Zelda _spin-off, and he was a camera nut. With a name that crazy, no one but Max Shulman could've come up with him haha.**

**Also, for the past few months I've been cursed with not being able to write things over 1,000 words. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later Dobie had his first project, and he also had five dates with Anita Iglehart all lined up. When he called her to set them up, she insisted that he bring his camera along and show her what he had been shooting.

Mr. Pomfritt had given the class the task of taking photographs capturing everyday life, so Dobie had to get to work in order to have some pictures for his date that evening. He started in his parents' store. He snapped picture after picture of his parents working in the store- dusting, organizing shelves, and filling orders.

After a spat with Mrs. Kenny, his father's irritation really started to show. After one more flash of the camera, Herbert T. Gillis turned on him. "Dobie! Get that camera outta here!" he ordered, pointing to the door.

Dobie saw his father through the viewfinder of the camera and he backed up quickly, crashing into the shelves and knocking some cans loose. He pulled his face away from the camera in time to see his dad's face turning red. Before his dad could speak again, Winnie swooped in. "Now, Herbert!" There she went with the "now, Herbert". When he heard that, Dobie's father knew he was toast. "The boy's only trying to expand his cultural horizons, pick up a new skill. You should be encouraging him!"

"If he wanted to pick up a new skill, why didn't he try something quiet, like painting, or miming?" Herbert retaliated, and then he turned to Dobie. "Who's the girl?"

"Girl? Oh, Herbert, what if Dobie just appreciated photo-" She exchanged a glance with her husband. They both knew that was unlikely. "I see your point. Dobie, what's her name?"

Their son's eyes took on a dopey look, and they knew they had hit the nail on the head. "Her name is Anita Iglehart."

"Anita Iglehart?" Winnie repeated.

"It's a name like a lullaby, like poetry!"

"Some kooky poetry," Herbert shot back, his temper undiminished.

Winnie sensed this and said to her son, "Dobie, how about you go and take some pictures outside?"

Dobie shrugged reluctantly. "Sure." He left the store with his camera around his neck. He had some pictures, but he didn't know if they would please Anita. "Better some pictures than none at all," he mumbled and headed to the school to develop his pictures.

* * *

After nearly an hour of drowning his film in chemicals, Dobie was not happy with the results. He had photos of clouds and sunrises and a few of his parents. They weren't great, but Dobie hoped that Anita would appreciate them.

Benbow Teed was also in the dark room, but he stuck to his own side of the room. "Hey, Benbow," Dobie ventured, picking up one of his photos and walking over to the boy. "What do you think of this one?"

The other boy sneered. "A sunrise? How boring can you get? That's so overdone!"

Dobie frowned and took the photo away. "Thanks for the support," he said sarcastically. "But I just know my girl will love it!"

* * *

"Dobie! A sunrise? How boring, how overdone. Can you not be original?" Anita lamented as she held the photo in her delicate hands.

The boy winced with each word. Benbow was right? "I- uh- I have this, too," he told her and held up a photo of the clouds, towering, and white, and puffy.

"First sunrises, and now clouds? Oh, Dobie, you're giving me all the old tricks. Sunrises are no longer enough to turn this girl's head!"  
"And what a beautiful head it is," Dobie interjected, but Anita pressed on.

"I want to see the grubby, the grimy, the truth!" she finished, her voice growing in volume with each noble word. "Do you have anything else, Dobie?"

"It's not very good…"

"I still want to see!"

Dobie looked up at her eager face and then passed the photos of his parents across the table. He shut his eyes, waiting for the worst, but what he heard next astounded him.

"Oh, Dobie! These are brilliant!" Anita cried, her face lit up with joy as she thumbed through the photos.

"Me? Brilliant?"

"Yes, you. Yes, brilliant!" she affirmed. "I love them, Dobie. What a splendid representation of everyday life for everyday people!"

"Yeah, that's about as everyday as it gets," Dobie nodded.

"Dobie," Anita started, and he hurried to look at her, like an obedient puppy dog. "Bring me more pictures like this."

"More everyday people?" he asked. "But why?"

"Its everyday-ness makes it unique. Everyone is going for romantic pictures- clouds, sunrises, the beach. We need more photographers out there like us, Dobie. Capturing life for what it is, not a big lie! Realism, rather than romanticism."

Dobie nodded in understanding. "Realism… realism… I get it, Anita. I'll take the realest pictures you've ever seen!" He hopped to his feet, his camera in hand.

Anita giggled. "Don't you want to order first?"

"Oh," he mouthed in embarrassment. Subdued, he sat down and called over a waiter, but his mind kept wandering to his next photo.


	4. Chapter 4

Dobie was driving Herbert T. Gillis absolutely out of his mind.

He had been snapping photos all morning, and even when Herbert kicked him out of the store, he would take pictures through the store windows or from behind shelves.

"Dobie!" Herbert roared, and his son guiltily skulked out from behind a stack of cans. "Take that darn camera of yours and shove off!"

"But, dad, I have to get pictures of everyday life! And you're as everyday as it gets!" Dobie defended, remembering what Anita had told him the evening before. "No offense."

"No offense? No offense!" His father shook his head. "Dobie, why don't you go down to the malt shop, or the park? You've been bothering the customers all morning, and you're sure as heck bothering me!"

"All morning?"

"No, boy. A heck of a lot longer than that!"

"Fine, dad, fine," Dobie relented, and once again he left the store, his camera swinging sullenly around his neck. "Some people just don't understand art!" he firmly told himself.

* * *

The park was crammed full with benches and bushes, and Dobie figured it couldn't get much more everyday. He took picture after picture of benches and bushes, but really, one could only take so many pictures of benches and bushes before it got boring. Really boring…

That took about five minutes. "Oh, boy," Dobie said as he sat down on a bench. "Why, if this isn't the dullest, drabbest, most sluggish, most idiotic thing!"

"You rang?"

Dobie turned. It was his friend, Maynard G. Krebs. He had photos in his hands.

"What've you got there, Maynard?" Dobie asked.

"A few pictures," he answered, walking over and sitting by his friend. "Everyday life and like that." He handed the photos to Dobie.

"Maynard… this is just pictures of your record player…"

"Yeah, isn't it like a beauty?" Maynard grinned. "I think that one's the Dizz album." He pointed, and Dobie nodded.

"Very nice, Maynard, very nice," he encouraged. "Now do you have anything else?"

"Keep flipping, good buddy!"

Dobie continued to look through the photographs. Many of them were of Maynard's record player. A few featured his parents, and some of Riff Ryan as he kicked Maynard out of the record shop. And then-

"Maynard, are these pictures of me?"

"Like, yeah, good buddy. You're pretty everyday, being my goodest, bestest buddy, and all."

"Thanks, Maynard, I'm touched. But… when did you take these?"

"When your dad locked you out and you were taking pictures of the store through the window. I didn't wanna like bother you, good buddy."

Dobie frowned and gave Maynard a sideways glance. "Well… thank you… I think." Maynard nodded amiably. "Have you seen anymore of that Benbow Teed?"

"Sure have," his friend answered. "Hey, Dobe? What's his deal? How come he hates our pictures so much?"

Looking over Maynard's work and remembering his own developed photos, Dobie had only one response. "Jealousy, Maynard. Pure jealousy."

* * *

Dobie and Maynard worked tirelessly developing their photographs. Mr. Pomfritt told them that they'd be having a critique soon, and that he expected their best photograph. Neither of the boys thought that any of their photographs were particularly good, but Benbow Teed had a whole stack of lovely pictures that he was sorting through. He wasn't saying anything, but Dobie just knew he was showing off- he was flipping through photographs as loud as was humanly possible.

"Greetings, my young troglodytes," Mr. Pomfritt greeted as he entered the dark room, the door shutting quickly behind him.

"Troglo-whats?" Maynard asked.

"Troglodytes, Maynard," the teacher explained. "Ignorant, ill-informed. No offense."

"No offense," Dobie shrugged. "Mr. Pomfritt, can't we push off the critique?"

"Like, please?" Maynard pleaded.

"Like, no," Mr. Pomfritt informed them. Both boys deflated, but the teacher ignored that. "Benbow, how about we start with you?"

* * *

While dark rooms were not ideal for holding a class, they certainly were good for sleeping through a class. Almost as soon as Benbow opened his mouth, Maynard hit the hay.

Dobie couldn't pay much attention either. But, in all fairness, Benbow Teed had the sort of voice that became flat monotone whenever a teacher was in hearing distance- very easy to ignore. Dobie was only thinking of what picture would get him a favorable review from Mr. Pomfritt. Like both Benbow and Anita had said, sunrises were boring, and clouds weren't much better.

"Mr. Gillis?" Mr. Pomfritt asked, and Dobie looked up. Benbow was returning to his seat, looking smug. "Can you wake up your friend and choose your picture?" His face bright red, he nudged Maynard hard in the ribs. The beatnik woke with a start and almost toppled out of his chair as Dobie scrambled up to grab a photo.

Only when he had reached the front of the room did he realize what it was. It was his father, probably in the process of shoving Dobie out of the grocery. His face was angry and his mouth was open and bellowing.

"Well, let's have it, Dobie," Mr. Pomfritt said expectantly, his hand waiting. Reluctantly, the boy handed it over.

The teacher immediately handed it back, and Dobie took the photo back, surprised. Mr. Pomfritt removed his glasses and wiped them on his tie. Once they were back on the bridge of his nose, he took the photo back from Dobie.

"Mr. Pomfritt?" he questioned.

The teacher tried to hold in his laughter and suppressed the smile. "Quite a... an interesting portrait of a uvula…"

"Ooh, what he said!" Maynard gasped, nearly falling out of his chair again.

"A uvula, Maynard!" Dobie told him. "Not… whatever you thought."

Benbow simply rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples.

Mr. Pomfritt thought it was high time he got back to the business of critiquing. "Focus, class!" he said sharply, and then looked back to Dobie's photograph. "Now, Dobie..." he trailed off, trying to think of something to say. Allowing a laugh to escape, he asked, "Mr. Gillis, is this how your father always looks?"

* * *

**Plot? What plot?**

**Also this is the longest chapter so far :)**


	5. Chapter 5

"Dobie, darling!" Anita cooed as she entered the malt shop.

"Anita, my angel!" he greeted and she kissed him on the cheek.

She slid into the booth and he sat down across from her. She folded her hands on the table and asked, "Have you taken any more photos?"

He grinned as he handed them to her. "I think you'll enjoy this installment, Anita. I'm thinking of calling it-"

His thought however was interrupted. "Oh, Dobie, these drab people again?"

"Drab? Listen here, Anita, only I can-"

"Dobie, yesterday this was cutting edge, but now it's overdone."

"Like the sunrise?"

"Like the sunrise," she confirmed. "Now, these photos… they're dull, and repetitive, and predictable, and uninteresting. Frankly, they look like they belong on the poster for a charity campaign."

"You rang?"

Anita gasped and got to her feet. "Who is this?"

"Maynard, flake off. You're scaring Anita," Dobie told his friend.

"Scaring me? Oh no," she shook her head. "Dobie, he's the perfect specimen!" She exclaimed and dragged Maynard to the table, pulling him into the seat beside her.

"Specimen? For what?" Dobie asked.

"Like, yeah? For what?" Maynard repeated nervously, his voice raising several octaves.

"A perfect subject to broaden your portfolio!" Anita continued. "Why, he's average!"

"Maynard? Average?" Dobie was uncertain.

"Fine, maybe not average," she agreed. "Maybe… below average?" She looked at Maynard apologetically, "No offense."

The beatnik shrugged, his eyes becoming downcast. "Like, no offense."

Dobie, however, was still skeptical. "Maynard isn't the most outstanding guy in the world- no offense- but why would he make a good subject?"

Anita's eyes lit up. "A look into the youth of today! So inside, so illuminating! Oh, Dobie, it'd be a great project."

"Like, me, a project?" Maynard exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Like, no thanks, no way!" Before Anita could grab hold of him, he practically exploded out of the booth and fled from the table.

"Oh, phooey," Anita grumbled, crossing her arms.

Dobie looked at her firmly. "Maynard's right, Anita. Even if he agreed to the idea, I couldn't make a project like that, putting my best friend on display like a zoo animal. No, sir- er… miss."

"Oh, Dobie, you're so noble and fine," she told him, and he smiled at her. "But far too noble and fine for this business!"

Jolted by her declaration, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Too noble? Anita, I don't get it."

"A good photographer needs to be sly… underhanded… sneaky. They need to be willing to do whatever it takes to get a good picture, to keep the world informed!"

"I don't think a picture of Maynard is going to show the world anything it needs to know."

"That's besides the point, Dobie," Anita urged. "What I'm really trying to say is that after awhile, people get bored of the same old thing. Your pictures need to be varied and unique. Do you think you can find something else?"

Dobie nodded. "Sure, Anita. I'll search to the ends of the earth to photograph something that'd give you a thrill."

She smiled, revealing her white teeth. "That's wonderful, Dobie!" Then, reaching into her purse, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it over the table to him.

He unfurled it and read it. "Central City photo contest?" he asked, looking over at her.

"It's a competition between students from the high schools," she explained. "Once you've taken a few more pictures, you should enter. With your talent and perspective, you're a shoe-in to win!"

"Oh… I don't know, Anita…"

"Please, Dobie?" she begged, pouting.

One look at her and Dobie gave up. "I'll do it."

"Oh, that's swell!" She hopped to her feet and gave him a quick hug and a kiss. "I've got to go, Dobie. Goodnight!"

As soon as the door closed behind Anita, Maynard popped up from behind the counter. "Like, thanks, Charley," he said to the waiter who was hiding him and came back over to the table. "She's like gone?"

"Sure is, Maynard," Dobie answered and his friend slid into the seat across from him. "And I've got myself into some awful trouble."

"Sure have," Maynard agreed, sliding Dobie's uneaten sundae to his side of the booth and digging in.

"I ought to call her up and say no!" Dobie proclaimed and almost got up. He gave up on that, too. "No, Maynard, I couldn't do that. Those eyes…"

"Yeah, those eyes," Maynard nodded, used to this routine.

"Those lips."

"Lips, yeah."

"That hair…"

"Hair."

"That…" Dobie trailed off and rested his chin on his fist in defeat.

"Yeah… that…" Maynard looked over at his friend, taking in his frown, his slumped shoulders. "You're in big trouble, Dobe."

Dobie heaved a sigh. "You can say that again."

"You're in big, _big _trouble."

* * *

**A shorter chapter, but it sets up the plot for the rest of the story. Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Chapter 6

Dobie sure was in a jam. He had been ever since that date in the malt shop a few days ago, when Anita had given him the flyer about the contest. He needed to think, and the place that helped him most when he got in these sorts of moods was his bench in front of the imitation _Thinker _statue in the park. So that was where he sat, his chin resting on his palm as he heaved sigh and sigh. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. This mess he had gotten himself into… it sure made a fellow sigh.

But Dobie had seventeen years behind him, and he knew how to work out a problem. So he began to talk to himself.

"I know how it must seem… I've been sticking my foot in my mouth ever since I met Anita and here's the part where I end up with a mouthful of dirty leather. It's not like that would make a good photo project. I've tried it!"

* * *

Dobie dug through his closet, searching out his leather boots. It had been months since he had worn them, so they were deep in his closet, buried under clothes and other discarded pairs of shoes.

Finally, under his winter jacket, unused for months, he found one of his boots, the laces tangled together. He got back to his feet with the boot in hand and went to his bed, sitting down. Dobie frowned, looking at the boot. It sure didn't look clean, but Anita told him that the life of a photographer was grimy and gritty, and that's the way he had to be, if Anita was ever going to be his girl. "Might as well start somewhere," he shrugged to himself.

Taking in a deep breath, he stuffed the boot in his mouth, his expression souring immediately. Dobie pushed past his discomfort in order to raise the camera. Trying to relax his face as much as possible, he was about to snap the picture when there was a knock on his door.

"Dobie?" his mother called from the other side of the door. The teenager tried to answer, but the boot in his mouth muffled the noise. Confused, Winnie pushed open the door, only for her jaw to drop. "Dobie! What on earth?"

He snapped the picture just as his mother rushed over to him, taking the boot out of his mouth. "Dobie, darling," she began, her eyes shining with concern, "I don't mean to sound like your father, but have you slipped your trolley completely?"

Dobie was shocked at the sharpness of her tone. "Mom, I'm trying to come up with a submission for a photography contest," he explained.

"By sticking a dirty, old shoe in your mouth?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in distress and confusion. "Honey, maybe your father's right. This whole photography nosiness… maybe it is hogwash."

"Oh, no way, mom. It's very noble work. That's what Anita says."

"Are you going to believe that girl or what's in a mother's heart?"

* * *

After that, Dobie went to the park, his camera swinging by his side. More than anything, he wanted to swear off this photography nonsense altogether. The more he thought about it, the more his mother seemed right. Why not just believe what was in a mother's heart?

He was on the verge of defeat when Maynard showed up. "Like, hi good buddy!" he greeted enthusiastically, but one forlorn look from Dobie sobered his mood. "What's bugging you?"

"I don't know what picture could possibly impress Anita! The contest deadline isn't too far away, and I've got nothing! Absolutely nothing," Dobie explained, his hands flying wildly as he talked. "And to top it off, my parents think I've lost my mind."

"Like, what else is new?"

Another look from Dobie, and Maynard silenced.

"Like, sorry, good buddy. I know that girl means a lot to you," he continued. "Just try to do something like different."

"If only it's as easy as it sounds," Dobie lamented. "I'm not the most artistic guy in school."

"Like, true."

"Don't agree so fast!" Sighing, he continued, "There's got to be something I can do."

Maynard shrugged. "Better get thinking, good buddy."

"Thanks a lump for the help," Dobie said, and stood up. "I might as well go and develop my pictures, to see if I have anything good." He said goodbye to Maynard, and started to walk away. "Boy, I've got a lot of work to do."

"WORK?!"

Dobie just shook his head.

* * *

Unfortunately, Benbow Teed was also in the dark room. The tables were covered with rolls of film and huge tubs full of chemicals.

Dobie confined himself into the far corner of the room, wanting to be as far from that camera nut as possible. As he began to develop with photographs, it became evident that none of them would win any competition. He held up one photo: it was of him with that stupid boot in his mouth. It was blurred, so he concluded that it must have been when his mother intervened.

"What on earth is that?"

Dobie jumped and turned around. "Benbow? What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?"

"I wanted to see what you were up to. What are you doing taking a picture like that? It's… spooky."

He sighed. For once, Benbow was right.

But he wasn't finished. Now he had plucked the picture from Dobie's hands and was looking at it like how Mr. Pomfritt critiqued. "Something like this'll send the art world back 50 years!"

Dobie's eyes narrowed. "Very funny," he said, and snatched the photo back. "What've you been up to?"

"Pretty good stuff," Benbow boasted, and the two boys walked over to his station.

Dobie looked over the pictures. One stood out. Picking it up, he asked, "What's this?"

"Oh, I saw someone trip and fall on the sidewalk."

"So… instead of helping them up, you took a picture?" Dobie asked, confused.

"Sure did. I always need to keep my eyes peeled for the perfect picture."

"Your parents must be… proud," he mumbled as he continued to flip through the stack of photographs, each as confusing as the last.

"I just like to take pictures that are different from the usual fare. It helps my work to stand out."

"Different, did you say?" Dobie asked, his interest piqued.

Benbow agreed, explaining about how he wanted to be an innovative photographer, instead of sticking to the status quo.

After Benbow finished talking about himself, Dobie went back to his corner of the dark room, only one piece of the conversation standing out. "Different…" he trailed off, remembering how Maynard urged him to submit something unique to the contest.

He looked over his shoulder at Benbow, who was hunched over some negatives.

"Hmmm…"

* * *

**I feel like I should probably apologize to the art world.**

**This was kind of a weird chapter, but it's all leading up to the grand finale, whatever that is :)**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Chapter 7

With the deadline of the contest fast approaching, Dobie was growing desperate. Benbow had given him an idea a few days previous, but from a moral standpoint, it wasn't a good one. Sure, Benbow was a heel, but stealing a photo was still dishonest.

As usual, things seemed to be progressing from bad to worse. He hadn't seen Anita since she had given him the flyer for the contest, and frankly, he didn't think she wanted to see him until he had a photo that would knock her socks off.

He was sitting in the park, and around him the sky was growing dark. He knew that soon his parents would begin to worry, but for now Dobie enjoyed staying still as the city grew quiet around him.

Dobie looked up as he heard footsteps and the sound of someone scatting a beat.

"Like, hi, good buddy!"

He waved to his friend half-heartedly. "Hi, Maynard."

"Where've you like been?"

"I've been trying to find out what to do about this stupid contest," Dobie explained. "I've thought of a lot of different ideas, but none of them are too great." As Maynard sat down, he looked to him. "Say, Maynard, do you have any ideas?"

"My head's kinda cute, but it doesn't figures things out too good," Maynard said. "You're like on your own, good buddy. If I could help, I would."

Dobie nodded sullenly, burrowing deeply back into his own thoughts. Then he looked up. "You'd be willing to help me?"

Maynard nodded vigorously. "Sure would, good buddy! I'd do like anything!"

"Hmm…"

Looking around to make sure they were alone, Dobie leaned forward and filled Maynard in on the plan.

"Like, me?" Maynard asked, his eyes widening. "Like, honorable, true-blue Maynard G. Krebs?"

"Yes, like you," Dobie confirmed. "Please, Maynard. You're my best friend… You've gotta do it!"

Maynard furrowed his eyebrows as he thought it over, but then he nodded. "Like, alright, good buddy."

Dobie smiled. "Thanks, Maynard… It's gotta be tonight!" He said goodbye and left for home, leaving his friend alone on the bench.

Maynard sighed, looking after Dobie, before he got to his feet and headed towards the school.

It was not yet closing time, so the doors to the school were unlocked. Maynard made it in easily and he headed towards the part of the high school where the dark room was. He passed by a janitor and greeted him, "Like, hi, Mr. Browning."

"Hi, Maynard," the man answered, and nothing more was thought of it.

Finally Maynard reached the dark room, and every small noise set him even further on edge. Of course he would do whatever Dobie asked of him, but this just didn't seem right. With the door firmly shut behind him, he looked around him. The dark room was now empty, and he spotted a folder on the counter, nearly spilling over with photographs.

He opened the folder and saw photos of just about everything: water from a water fountain captured as it made its graceful arc, Benbow's own hand wrapped in caution tape, and someone falling on the street. The last one made Maynard look twice. "Like, spooky," Maynard said to himself, but took the first few photos that he saw. Taking Benbow's photos sure wasn't honest, but Dobie had asked him, and how could Maynard say no?

He stuck the photos under his sweatshirt and hurriedly left the dark room.

Later that evening, Dobie was much calmer. His parents had given him permission to go out, and he was currently with his beloved Anita in the malt shop. With Maynard out procuring some photographs, he felt that everything was under control.

Until, of course, the conversation got around to the contest. "Do you have anything developed?" she asked.

"Yes," Dobie lied quickly. "I definitely do. I don't have it with me though… it's in the dark room, at school."

"They're not more of those people in the store, right?"

"No-"

"You don't beat a dead horse, you know," she informed him, and then paused. "Although that would make an interesting photo…"

"Anita," Dobie interrupted. "I just know that I'll win that contest."

She smiled at him. "I just know you will as well, Dobie darling."

At that moment, Maynard burst into the malt shop. "Got it, good buddy!" he called and he hurried over to the table.

"You've really got it?" Dobie asked.

"Like, yeah, big daddy."

He turned from his friend to his date. "Anita, I've gotta go," he said and kissed her on the cheek.

With that, Dobie and Maynard practically flew out of the malt shop.

Dobie prepared to hand in his submission for the contest at school the next morning. With the photo in hand, he marched up to the table in the hallway that accepted submissions. After filling out the application, he put that and the photo into the box of submissions.

With that out of the way, he walked to class with a guiltless conscience.


End file.
